Punting. Of course blooding punting. Stephen would pick the most obscurely upper class way to relax. But that was why they loved him, wasn't it? Michael had his hip flask, his sunglasses, and two tubes of Pringles, even if Stephen did pull a face at Muggle food.
"Hombres," he called, raising his Pringles in the air as he apparated onto the spot beside the Cherwell with Stephen's house elf. "Who's running away? I thought we were punting."
Michael didn't have a job. Or any responsibilities at home. Perhaps he was slacking off a little bit, but it had only been a few months and he just wasn't ready to pull himself back together. He felt better in pieces than he did all together. Hey, he was going back to school and that was something, wasn't it? "Hey, Bootsie. You okay?" he asked, putting an arm around Terry's shoulders and pressing a kiss to his head. "Anthony. Stephen, my love, my ship in the night. Nice day for it."